


True Blue

by WeCouldBeCircumbinary



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:44:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCouldBeCircumbinary/pseuds/WeCouldBeCircumbinary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She always smelled sweet, like dough and sugar, but it didn't bother you when she said she wanted to wear your shirts, making her smell like you sometimes. And you didn't mind one bit when you would see her making breakfast in jeans and your bright orange hoodie, humming softly to herself.<br/>In fact, you loved it.<br/>Hell, you loved her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, I don't really know where I was going with this. And its not great.  
> But I finally got my invite and I still haven't posted anything, which quite honestly seemed ridiculous to me.  
> So have a little somethin'-somethin' until I get some good stuff cranked out.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and sometimes, you’d remember.

You’d remember seeing a girl die, struck through the torso and back then, you were so numb. So oblivious. God, how could you have been so blind?

Even more so, you remember being so numb and blind and stupid that you saved everyone’s lives - but in the long run, it was still crazy and now, to think back on, it’s scary as fuck.

Sometimes, you’d hurt.

You’d hurt when you’d distantly recall the dull, blatant throbbing that your Derse-self adopted, those final moments that your head was ripped from your body and, while only slightly, still functioning.

You killed yourself, you killed your friends, and Christ it was so scary. Normally, you’d pride yourself in being okay but there were nights when you woke up in a cold sweat, dreams far away from this new universe you all created. You used to go to Jake, curl up with him and kiss and talk and laugh and joke, until you fell asleep. But you always felt empty, despite the house the four of you shared. You always felt empty.

Sometimes, you’d scream.

You’d scream when the dreams got bad, when they weren’t chased away by the waking world and when they’d linger, thick and heavy and terrifying. You would bury your face in your pillow and muffle your bottled fear with bright orange fabric and, oddly enough, the thought of sky blue and baking began to soothe your frayed nerves, your teetering sanity.

Sometimes, you’d wish.

You’d wish, no longer for the island boy so fond of cerulean ladies and skulls, but for the blue girl herself. You’d help her out in the kitchen more often, sit on the counter and hold the bowl as she stirred, split the first (and last) piece of cake with her, run errands and take notes, all for her. And you never minded.

You just couldn’t get your mind off cropped, curly, raven locks and bright blue eyes – free and honest as the sky. Her pre-Scratch (Dave and Rose and explained) version, John, also had eyes like that, too blue to even comprehend, but they were nothing like hers. John’s were deep, like the ocean, and held a whole different kind of childish silliness, though it did resemble your girl’s blue. You and John had a fling – John was so close to your blue, you were so close to John’s red – but it didn’t last. Close enough just… wasn’t enough.

Sometimes, you’d cry.

You’d cry and bawl and it didn’t happen very often, but every time it did, your blue would show up and peek through the doorway, in her little white or blue or red nightgown and give you this look, eyes lacking glasses and sleep but you would nod all the same because you wanted – no, you needed her there with you. She would crawl in beside you, and before you nuzzled into her and before those eyes closed to get much-needed sleep, you always made a mental note at how nice light blue looked against orange.

Then, things changed.

You’d both finally gotten past that comfort-only stage and were now best friends, doing everything together and being inseparable like “the adorbz biffsies yu are!”  
And it got to be more often that she’d creep through your door and crawl into your bed, some nights even when you weren't awake, but you would peel open your eyes to find raven curls and porcelain skin and you didn't mind. She always smelled sweet, like dough and sugar, but it didn't bother you when she said she wanted to wear your shirts, making her smell like you sometimes. And you didn't mind one bit when you would see her making breakfast in jeans and your bright orange hoodie, humming softly to herself.

In fact, you loved it.

Hell, you loved her.

It was one night, that winter, when you were all snowed in, that you curled up in bed and huddled under the blankets, freezing and alone. The door creaked softly and you turned to look, not at all surprised but incredibly relieved to see one Jane Crocker standing in the doorway, smiling sheepishly with her glasses pushed back on her head.

“May I join you?” she murmured softly, cocking her head. You noticed she was in your hoodie, and the long pajama pants you had lent her.

“Of course,” you say, as if it’s totally obvious and you have no idea why she asked. Scooting over, you hold up the blanket and she crawls in beside you, her hands immediately finding their way to your face, slipping off your shades and stowing them neatly beneath your pillow. Smiling softly, your bury your face in the soft curve of her neck and shoulder, and shit is she warm, so comfortable, and your arms weave around her waist to pull her closer. You wished with every fiber of your being that she didn't see this all as platonic, and it’s all you can do not to say it, not to say it, not to-

“I love you so much, Jane.”

-say it. Welp.

You feel her body go rigid against you, as if someone had thrown the window open. “Excuse me, Mister Strider?”

“Nothing at all,” you hum, much too smoothly for how much you’re panicking inside. 

“Well, shucks. That’s not a fair thing to go back on, don’t you know, Dirk!”

You, with just as much of that unfair smoothness, slowly pull back from her, just waiting to get shoved away from your best friend – possibly forever.

“Golly, Dirk. You sure don’t have a single bit of faith in me, do you?” Jane mock-scolds you with a chuckle, and your face twists slightly into confusion.

“Uhm.. What?” Yeah. Smooth.

“I love you, too, Dirk. I really don’t know how you could’ve gotten an inkling that I didn't!” She laughed softly, a sweet and tinkling noise like soft bells and you don’t care how cliché that is, it is so true. And you love it.

Giving her a soft, chaste kiss on the lips, you bury your face in the crook of her neck once more and you stay like that for the rest of the day, tangled together under heaps of blankets, laughing softly and teasing and kissing and cuddling.

You don’t know when it hits you, but you realize… While you’ll always love orange and green,

Jane will only ever be your true blue.

And that was more than okay with you.


End file.
